As Jesus was walking by the Sea of
Galilee, he saw two brothers,
Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew, casting a net into the
sea; they were fishermen. He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you
fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.
Matthew 4:12-23
Please
excuse me if you have heard this story several times. I have only one life, so
I have to repeat some of my old experiences once in a while. As some of you
already know from my many years of preaching at the Cathedral, at Bellarmine
and writing in The Record, that I got my “call” when I was
about six years old. No, God did not speak to me from the clouds. Mary did not
appear to me in church. Something, however, happened when I was six years old that
I have never forgotten. Since I was born and grew up in Rhodelia where there
were no barber shops, an elderly man up the road by the name of Alvey Manning
cut my hair for $.25. One day, one of his nephews who had recently been
ordained, Father Henry Vessels, came for a visit. I just happened to be there
for a haircut. Father Vessels paid no attention to me and I don’t even remember
talking to him that day. At some point, he had taken off his Roman collar and
coat and laid them on one of the beds. I don’t know what possessed me, but I
sneaked into the bedroom, held the collar up to my neck and looked at myself in
the mirror. Not knowing what got into me, I dropped it like a hot potato, as if
I had broken every religious taboo in the Catholic Church. Even
though I was only six years old, I have never forgotten that experience.
The
next time the subject of priesthood came up was a year later. I was in the
second grade when Sister Mary Ancilla asked us to tell the class what we wanted
to be when we grew up. I can still remember thinking, “should I or shouldn’t I”
tell them! I can still remember urging myself to go ahead and say “priest”
whether they laughed at me or not! The only problem was, I proceeded to flunk
the altar boy test, not once, not twice, but three times! This prompted Sister
Mary Ancilla to say to me, “Ronnie! You’re a good kid, but I don’t think you
will ever be any good around the altar!” (As punishment, I made her sit in the
front pew at my First Mass.)
Throughout
grade school, unfazed by Sister Mary Ancilla’s negative evaluation of my
possible calling, I did not dwell on the idea of being a priest, but it was
always there in the back of my mind. When it came time to go to high school in
1958, I found out that the church would accept young men to start their
seminary training out of the eighth grade. Against the advice of almost
everybody who knew me, even my pastor Father Felix Johnson, I decided to apply.
He didn't want to fill out the papers for my going to the seminary until I
groveled. Even then, he predicted I wouldn't make it to Christmas. A month or two later, at barely fourteen years
of age, I left home to begin a twelve-year seminary program to become a priest.
Father White called me into his office during my second year of high school
seminary and told me he was sending me home because "you, Mr. Knott, are a
hopeless case." I had to grovel again for a second chance. (Actually, when
I think about it, I have had a lot of experience at groveling!)
Finally,
on May 16, 1970 I was ordained! It was hard, very hard, an uphill battle most
of the way, but I never looked back, I have never been through an identity
crisis for more than a day or two, and even today, I would not trade with
anybody. However, even on my ordination day, a woman came up to me and asked
how many years I was in seminary. When I answered 12, she stepped back and
gasped, "My God! You could have been something!" Most of the time, almost
fifty-three years now, I have loved doing what priests do. At age 78, almost
79, with the finish line in sight, I still hope to finish my life as a priest.
In
today’s gospel Jesus notices two sets of brothers, fishing. He calls them to
follow him, to become his disciples. We are told they immediately dropped
their nets, two of them even dropped their father, and followed
Jesus. Unlike the resistant and foot-dragging response of the
Prophet Jonah, these guys are decisive and passionate.
Throughout
Scripture, different people respond differently to God’s call. Abraham and
Sarah were old, “one foot in the grave” as the scriptures put it, when they
were called to be the father and mother of God’s “chosen people.” Sarah was
even caught snickering in her tent about the very idea of becoming a mother in
her old age. Moses, who had some sort of speech impediment, tried to beg off
when God called him to lead his people out of slavery. Because of his youth,
David wasn’t even called in from the fields for the selection process to be King
of Israel, yet God chose him over all his older and wiser brothers. The Prophet
Isaiah tried to beg off because he had a foul mouth, but God chose him to be a
prophet anyway, after washing his mouth out with a hot coal. The Prophet Jeremiah
also tried to beg off, using the excuse that he was too young and pathetic at
public speaking. God chose him anyway. Mary was barely a teenager when God
called her. Paul was a fanatic Christian basher, but God called him to make a 180
degree turn and convert thousands to the Christian way of life. Sts.
Francis of Assisi and Augustine of Hippo were playboys of the worst kind. The
scholarly St. Thomas Aquinas, when he was younger, was nicknamed “the dumb ox.”
He was so fat that they had to cut out part of the table so that he could reach
his plate. He became one of the Church’s most brilliant theologians. Elizabeth
Ann Seton was a married Episcopalian when God called her to convert to
Catholicism, to become a nun on the death of her husband, to start schools,
orphanages and hospitals all over the eastern coast of the United States and
finally to become one of a handful of American saints. These men and women join
a long list, not only of very ordinary people, but also a long list of misfits,
adulterers, losers, weaklings, incompetents, thieves and idiots that God has
called to important work.
You
are also called to called to carry on some part of Christ’s ministry to the
world. Yes, you! God has a special job for you to do in your life that no one
else can do. You cannot use the excuse that you are too young or too old, too
unworthy or too short on talent. One of the most regular themes in scripture is
this: God does not use the world’s standards for choosing those he calls. No,
he “chooses the weak and makes them strong in bearing witness to him.”
Personally,
I have always thought that marriage and the raising of children was the hardest
of vocation. I have always admired those of you who were called to marriage and
who have raised families. I don't know how you do it! I learned that when it
comes to marriage, you cannot judge a book by its cover. I have presided at
weddings where I had great confidence that the new couple would surely make it,
but didn't. I have presided at other weddings where I was very doubtful they
would last a year only to help them celebrate their 50th wedding anniversaries!
Obviously, God knows more about what he was doing than I did!
From
personal experience. I learned a long time ago, both as a seminarian myself and
as a seminary staff member for fourteen years, that the best seminarians do not
always make the best priests! In my own case, very few people had much hope for
me making it to priesthood, much less lasting this long! I am pretty much
surprised myself, but as Mary said to the angel, “with God, anything is
possible.”
Maybe
you are young and have not yet heard your life’s call. If not, just remember
that God has his eye of you right now, so be ready to "drop
everything" and "go for it!" Maybe you are right in the middle
of living out your vocation or maybe you have completed your life's vocation.
Either way, I hope you can look back over your vocation and feel how I feel
about my own call. My vocation is summed up in four words at the top of my new
tombstone down in Meade County - “simply amazed – forever
grateful.”
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